Work Text:
“So, any plans for Christmas?” You jump, the pen you had in your hand falling on the floor, taken by surprise – no wonder given the profession of your friend, and the fact that you were concentrated on the mountain of paperwork that Tony’s last pet-project has generated – by Natasha Romanoff’s whisper in your ear.
Gritting your teeth, your heart beating like crazy, you turn to face the smirking red-head Avenger, with a look that could kill probably anyone… except perhaps a Red Room trained assassin as she is.
Besides, ever since you’ve met, Nat has taken a liking to you- although you couldn’t say exactly why. You don’t have anything in common, after all: she is a former Russian assassin turned SHIELD agent turned Avenger while you are an engineer, she is stunning with sweats while you look like a sack of potatoes pretty much in over 90% of your clothes, she is beautiful, where you are average (maybe cute on your best days), she has an army of friends while you’ve always been on the lonely side, she is a jock while you are a nerd… And yet, you became friends- and it works, this crazy little thing. Not only that: she is helping you leaving you shell, little by little.
“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes, returning to filling forms after forms under Edith’s careful and stern gaze - she is your boss’ brand new secretary, carefully chosen by one Pepper Potts- Stark, a sullen-looking huge woman of an undefined age who makes up for her utter lack of any grace, femininity, good taste (and even tact) with extraordinary organizational skills and a strong professionalism. “Like you didn’t know already all too well what my plans are.”
“Oh, yes – no opening the stockings full of presents, no gingerbread cookies, and no one to sit with before the fireplace.” She chuckles- she dares to!- as you leave the last form with Edith and like on autopilot you walk in direction of the break room, in dire need of a caffeine fix, and she follows you, hands joined behind her back, moving as she was dancing on tip-toes, with a grace that everyone envies her, you included.
“I don’t have a fireplace!” You pretend to be offended, but, suddenly reminded of your current situation, you pout, saddened, scanning your badge at the coffee machine. “Thank you very much for reminding me that my parents decided to get a second honeymoon in France, my sister decided to stay in Los Angeles with her girlfriend while my brother and his wife are celebrating with her family in Aspen.”
The warmth and the aroma of the freshly brewed coffee fill your nostrils, and you sigh at closed eyes, feeling a little better: for the first time since you can remember, you’ll spend Christmas Day alone, but you are already filling your agenda with things to see, places to be, in order to fill that void and don’t feel the absence of your beloved relatives.
Still, there’s one line you’ve been adamant you’ll not be crossing, despite Nat’s attempts. You’ll not spend Christmas with any of your coworkers, much less you’ll accept being third wheel to any of the couples that have formed on the Avengers team over the years, nor you have any intention of intruding on well-established family traditions.
So, no. you’ll stay at Tony’s cottage with his wife and daughter, you will not tag along Nat and Bruce, or Bucky and Steve, and you definitely will not join Sam and his sister in New Orleans, or Pietro and Wanda while they spend the holidays recalling their childhood.
And anyway, you are kind of still annoyed with Wanda and that clairvoyant attitude of hers – or at least, you are, when you resist the urge to burst out laughing uproariously at the complete nonsense she shot at you the last time you met.
“You are definitely thinking about something.” Nat mock you, and yet again, you roll your eyes; you love her, you really do, and you’ve formed a quick friendship in the short time you’ve been working for the R&D division of Stark Enterprises, but something even she is too much for you, with her sass and her smart. “C’mon, you know you can’t keep a secret from me!” She chuckles, elbowing you lightly on the side as you keep walking, and your coffee goes sideways, making you cough; you slightly lose your balance, with the result that your adored and needed caffeine spills on your formerly pristine white coat.
“Geez, definitely what I needed today…” you groan, and she laughs. Nat keeps staring at you, in silence, but with an expression that is worth over a million of words, typical of those extremely lucky few people who don’t need words to communicate. You imagine that may actually be one of the reasons she was such a good agent back in her days at SHIELD: a look like that, and stronger people may have spilled the beans to her about their nefarious plans.
“She said that she saw in her cards that an handsome man that I’ll meet here will proclaim his love for me on Christmas day and that by the end of the year I will have three kids.” You chuckle as you take your lab coat off and adjust your clothes- they are saved, at least!
Nat’s gaze is stern on you, as you both keep walking. Perfect in just jeans and a jumper, she looks extremely skeptical, despite knowing all too well the magnitude of Wanda’s mystical abilities.
“You, in a serious relationship, by the end of the year? Don’t take it the wrong way, but honey, you’d need a Christmas miracle for that to happen.”
“Ehy, I resent the insinuation that I may be too choosy when it comes to romance!” You lift a finger at her, but you are the first one to know that she is not wrong and you are actually trying to win an impossible fight.
You are choosy, when it comes to men. But, in your defense: it’s not completely your fault, if you are picky. You just never met the right kind of man.
There was the firefighter, Jack, who kept bragging about himself- which you totally get, firefighters are, in your eyes, as much as heroes as they guy you work for, but you know for sure that over 90% of what he told you happened to be either exaggerated or a blatant lie.
And what about Roger? He worked in a sub-division of Stark’s R&D division, and five minutes into your first date, he asked you if you were willingly to have lunch the next day. With his mother.
And then there was Chuck, Denver, and… how many others? You’ve been through so many first dates (many arranged by your friends and relatives- especially Nat) that you’ve actually lost count.
“I don’t want to compromise when it comes to the potential love of my life. When I’ll get in a serious and ever-lasting relationship, it will be with the right kind of man. The right man. Just like my parents who, after forty years, still banter like teenagers in love.” You take a dreamy expression, as you think back to your parents, and are reminded of how much you fantasize looking at their wedding portrait. “Trust me, if you can’t stand for twenty minutes the person right before you, you’ll definitely not be sitting at the same table as them in twenty years, and I’d rather be single than unhappy or resentful.”
“Ehy, have you two finished gossiping?” As your cheeks warm, blushing of a crimson color, you stop and stare right before you when a masculine voice calls you. Nat grins, at you side, and sends you an meaningful expression as you are left breathless. “Ehy, Doc, you mind if I steal Nat for a while? I need help shopping.”
“Nope. Nope. Not at all. She is all yours, I’m busy anyway. Very busy. Geeky stuff.” You are almost stuttering as you lower your eyes, averting his eyes, and the mirth you know you’ll find in them. Nat, his best friend, crosses her arms, and smirks, looking first at you and then at him.
Here he is, right before you… Clint Barton, former SHIELD agent, current Hawkeye, super-hero and family man.
Yes, you can admit it, at east with yourself: you may have a tiny little bit of a crush on him- how could you not, after all? He is decent-looking (well, handsome- but you’ll never admit it out loud, especially not before Nat who would tease you until the end of days), with a good heart, funny, and he showed the world that you don’t need powers to be heroes and fight the good fight: he stands among Gods, billionaires with futuristic tech, super-soldiers, alien-powered human beings, sorcerers… and he never lose faith in his abilities.
Also, there’s no freaking way in hell that he may be the man Wanda saw you with in her “vision”, as you happen to know that he has a family. You’ve never discussed it with anyone- let alone him - and you’ve never inquired about his situation with any of your colleagues and mutual friends, but you overheard him just a few days before talking with Nat…
“So, I need help, because I really have no freaking idea about what to get Lila for Christmas and I may be in dire needs of a feminine point of view…”
“You are hopeless, Clint. I mean, how can you not know what your own daughter likes?”
“You sure you don’t want to tag along? I think Clint here may really appreciate a second opinion…” Nat keeps teasing you, and in that moment, you’d really like to hurt her- a lot. Yes, she may have understood that you may actually like Clint, but why does she have to behave like this, when she knows all too well that this attraction is just one sided, and nothing will ever happen between you and the Avengers’ resident archer?
“Yeah, she is right, I’m awful at getting people gifts- I always end up buying them gag gifts, or awful jumpers.” He mocks himself, chuckling, with hands in the pockets of his jeans. You bite your lips before sighing: he is too handsome for his own good, and he doesn’t even know it. Besides, he is funny, and it’s hard to find a funny man, they are rarer than black diamonds.
“Ah, no…” You answer, defensive, suddenly tense. “I… have to prepare for a meeting this afternoon, and Tony- I mean, Mister Stark- wanted all the data available and I haven’t been able to collect all the information on the last upgrade we went through with the programming AND I already have places to be this evening.”
“A date with the man of your dreams, perhaps? The future father of your future three children?” Nat makes fun of you, while Clint chuckles and looks at you curious.
“Oh, you…” You blushes as you start walking backwards, bumping into one of your colleagues who curses through clenched teeth – spilling his coffee on your pale pink cashmere sweater, and ruining it for good.. “I’ll never tell you anything, aver again!”
Nat laughs under her whiskers, as Clint quizzically raises an eyebrow, while all you can do is running away as quickly as possible with your tail between your legs.
“Can we have some candy, too, miss elf?” Clad in your green velvety dress- that comes with a complementary green hat and white and red striped knee-length socks- you turn towards the source of the mischievous voice at your back, and you see them walking towards you: Nat and Clint, with two teenagers - a boy and a girl - and a kid around five years old. “Nice dress, darling- didn’t know you were into Robin Hood.” She sneakers, and you blush, because Nat is sending a curious gaze at her best friend and partner and you are pretty sure there’s an innuendo about archery somewhere in that sentence.
Nat’s evil- that’s the only explanation. Either that, or your whole friendship was actually staged and in truth, she hates you and she is being mean on purpose.
For the longest second of your life you hope that he didn’t get it- or that maybe, just maybe, he was so focused on his kids that he didn’t hear her at all..
“What are you even doing here?” Clint asks you, amused and intrigued, while playing with one of the bells of your elf hat, resulting in you turning in the same shade of red of Nat’s hair – and his smirk is worth over a million of words.
(Yep. He had definitely heard the Robin Hood comment.)
You are suddenly grateful for this dress that, on someone as short as you, looks oversize and leaves absolutely everything to the imagination. “Stark’s so stingy that you need to work as an elf at the mall?”
You're mouthing off, unable to find the right words, frightened by the idea that the little one might not know that this all is just a farce and you're actually a very normal person, and certainly not an elf who works making toys for Santa Claus, supporting him in delivering gifts to good children all over the world on the most magical night of the year.
“Hi, I’m Nathaniel!” The kid tells you, with a toothless smile, satisfied, all his father; he pulls at the fabric of your green skirt, and you crouch down when you realize he wants to tell you something: in your ear he whispers that he's a big boy now, and he knows it all too well- the presents, it’s the adults bringing them.
“Oh, well, in this case…” You stand up, hands behind your back as Nathaniel runs past you just to jump on Santa’s knees, a bit reluctant, and while his siblings check their phones, Natasha snaps some pictures of him as he pours his heart open to the elderly actor.
“So, we were saying that Stark’s stingy…” Clint chuckles, as he looks at his son while talking with you; behind you, his other two kids are looking at their phone, messaging, huffing, probably hoping they were anywhere but there, and you smile. They may have a superhero for father, you don’t even dare to imagine what living their live may actually feel like, but at the end of the day, they are typical teenagers just like you and your siblings were.
Clint lifts his eyebrow, and you shrugs. “My family’s not in town for Christmas, and this job keeps me busy. That, and I would have never believed it, but they pay pretty well, and since Stark hasn't told me yet if he's going to renew my contract in January or not, in case he decides to let me go, I'll have some money saved up while I look for a new job."
Your declaration that you may actually be leaving in a few weeks leaves him speechless; at first, you think he may actually be surprised, but when you dare to lift your eyes and look at him, you notice that he is gaze is gaze is fixed on his son. Clint’ focused- so much so that he is even narrowing his eyes, almost as to sharpen his sight and he was about to shoot one of his deadly precise arrows.
He hasn’t heard a word you were saying.
You clear your voice: no reaction whatsoever.
You call his name, once, twice: his focus remains on Nathaniel.
“WHAT?!” He suddenly half-screams, clenching both teeth and fists; his gentle and relaxed features are transmigrated in something filled with rage, the cordons of his muscles are so tense you can actually see them beneath his sun-kissed skin – and even Nat seems suddenly worried, as she lowers the phone and looks suddenly saddened.
(Yep. You hate to admit it, but Clint Barton is hot even when he is mad…)
Blushing as if you had been caught red-handed, or committing some hideous crime, you start to pick at your fingertips, looking at your green- boot clad feet. You heart actually clenches, constrict, as you feel small and inadequate and wonder how you could have actually thought possible to be around such amazing people, almost as if you were their equal: they are out of your league. Still, it upsets you, probably more than it should, and you feel your insides burning up with rage and indignation.
Shameful, Clint blushes, as he was suddenly hit by your negative vibes; he clears his throat, unable to meet your gaze, and looking bashful he rubs his neck. He looks nervous, and there’s something incredibly sweet and innocent in his behavior- he even looks younger than his years.
“I’m- I’m sorry.” He almost stutters. “I didn’t hear what you were saying.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed.” You spit up, probably putting a little too much venom in your tone, arms crossed over your chest in a way that, strange enough, actually emphasizes what little assets nature provide you with: Clint’s amused eyes seem to say that he noticed it, too.
The oversized dress? It’s suddenly the least modest thing in your whole wardrobe, and your whole being tingles as excitement and horniness (he is noticing you, and he seems to appreciate your curves) mixes with shame (he is a married man).
“What he actually means is that he was too caught up in reading his son's lips to focus on your own little mouth - Clint doesn't like to carry his hearing aid around when he's out on the town, the traffic gives him a headache." Nat intervenes, putting the phone back in the pocket of her skinny jeans and taking the words out of Clint's mouth, saving him from the embarrassment of having to explain himself to one who is effectively a stranger.
Your neck turns purple, you're red from the tips of your toes to the tips of your hair, you feel yourself burning with shame and embarrassment.
It's not that Clint wasn't listening to you: he couldn't hear you, he's deaf, and you never even realized it. How is it possible that you missed something like that? You don't really know him, and yet you were sure you noticed everything about him, and you said you... you had a soft spot for this man, who once again proved to be exceptional.
“Did you get what Nathaniel was asking for?” She deadpans, her arms crossed and her look judgmental- and when Clint rolls his eyes and looks annoyed, hands in his jeans pockets, you feel like you were the third wheel, getting in the middle of an argument you shouldn’t be getting involved with in the first place.
“Yes, Barney’s a border-line alcoholic who watches too much television and doesn’t clean the boxes.” He groans, fixating his gaze on Nat- now you understand why he always looks at people’s lips, he reads them, there nothing intimate of lustful about it.
“Wow dad- you choose what to listen to even now that you actually read lips.” His daughter snickers, talking without looking up from her cell phone screen. Clint grits his teeth, grunting something intelligible: he can't have heard everything his daughter said, due to the partial deafness you only learned about today, but he must have sensed that she had made a joke about him - and he doesn't seem to appreciate it too much.
“She and Nate are right- I mean dad, you really need a girlfriend, and, to, like, get laid. You are kind of overwhelming.”
What follows Clint's eldest son's brutal and brash statement can only be described as the theater of the absurd.
Natasha laughs it off - and not even too unnoticeably.
You stare gaping, eyes wide, increasingly red with embarrassment, wishing you were anywhere but in the middle of that curious family discussion, while Clint...
"What did you say, Cooper?" He growls, turning to face the boy, almost redder than you, and fuming - though you can't tell if it's more from anger or embarrassment.
"What? Look it's Aunt Nat saying you could use a girlfriend to chill out a bit!" The boy excuses himself, with a brazenness and nonchalance typical of youths his age.
The Avenger glares at his son, then turns back to you - and if you weren't embarrassed yourself, you'd be smiling at how sweet he is right now.
But, at least, you got an extremely important piece of information, that makes you feel a little less guilty: Clint’s single (and apparently, also a single father, which somehow makes him hotter in your eyes…)
“For the last time, I don’t need a girlfriend!” He hisses, embarrassed – and you are not even sure who he is actually talking with, his kids, Natasha or you. “"I just need someone to keep an eye on you, your brother, and help me organize the house during the holidays so that by the beginning of the year everything will be in place – someone who maybe knew sign language, so that I didn’t have to keep this damn thing on 24/7!!"
What follows is a moment, a very long one, full of embarrassment and anticipation, and without even realizing it, aware of every single nerve in your being, yet detached from it, you hear yourself speaking, but your voice is distant, as if it belonged to someone else and you were just an outside listener.
You know you said those words: but you don't even know why, where they came from.
"I can do it if you want." You hear yourself saying. “My sister’s deaf, so, I kind of know sign language?”
Clint's eyes fall on you, and his lips break into a smile - the most beautiful smile you've ever seen on a man's face. "Are you serious? Would you come over to my house and help me with the kids?"
"Yeah, I mean, it's not like I have anything better to do during the holidays... I have just one more day at work and besides…" You shrug, blushing with embarrassment at having to admit (to him, too) that your holidays would otherwise be very, very sad and lonely. "The alternative would be watching Netflix while munching on stale popcorn on the sofa in my pajamas… This year my family will be scampering around the four corners of the planet and my friends are all busy or hitched.”
“And you don’t have anyone. A boyfriend or a girlfriend or, you know…” Clint asks you, almost in disbelief, lifting an eyebrow.
“You might be shocked, but apparently men don’t like my charming personality.” You roll your eyes, making a face. "That, or maybe it's because I'm perpetually available to Stark, on call 24 hours a day, seven days a week, as if I were his cardiologist."
“So I would be the one doing you a favor, saving you from days of loneliness...” He mockingly tells you, with false modesty – you hope he acted better back when he was at SHIELD, otherwise you wouldn’t understand how he managed to last this long as a spy.
“You don’t need to put it like that.” You pout, suddenly very interested in your feet, and Clint chuckles, almost in disbelief; he takes you in his arms, making you pirouette in the air. He puts you back on the ground, and under Natasha's amused look, and the almost incredulous one of her children, he gives you a kiss - sure, it's on the forehead, but it's still a kiss. From Clint Barton. And it was the last thing you expected to happen when you got out of bed this morning.
Clint and his kids are currently living in an apartment in Queens, in a building own by Clint himself (there's a long and complicated explanation behind how a spy and part-time super-hero found the money to buy an entire building, and you soon find out that it involves Barney, an ex-federal, an undercover operation and money stolen from the mob and disappearing into thin air).
Barney, Clint’s brother, currently lives in the building, with his girlfriend Simone and her two sons, while the Barton family occupies the whole last floor, where there is also space for a guest room where you move in so that you could always be available in case of emergency; it’s just a temporary situation: until Clint doesn’t find someone he can actually trust.
Christmas is getting closer and closer, and for this year, you’re finished with your official occupation. On your last day, as you were packing your stuff, you've also been unabashedly serious with Stark, and decisive: this year you're turning off your phone, there's nothing that can't wait a few days. And if your boss comes up with any bright ideas, you suggest he do what all ordinary people do: take a note. You tell him you’ll be busy, but not tell him with what, you are too embarrassed, and you know that your boss happens to be a bit of a tease – one of the reasons he and Nat get along oh so well.
In a matter of days, an once empty apartment becomes one that looks (and is) lived in: your Christmas playlist fills the rooms as you decorate the three, and the kids become more talkative, they laugh more and Lila and Cooper spend less time looking at their phones or talking with their peers and more time with him, looking at silly old movies.
While you're arranging some decorations around the house, ornaments that seem to have come straight out of tales of the old west – trinkets probably filled with traditions and memories - Clint's gaze lingers on you. The hearing aid is off - sign language is used at home -but he's looking at you, concentrated, thoughtful, biting his lip as he enjoys the spectacle of you moving to the rhythm of notes invisible to him, humming to yourself, clad in sneakers, jeans and a Christmas sweater.
He wonders how it is that men don't notice you: you're full of life, funny, smart, and very, very pretty.
Leaning against the doorframe, he sighs. He knows it himself: he's telling himself a bold-faced lie.
You used to be cute and nice when you met at the tower for work, when you chatted in the corridors between missions or nodded to each other when you met in the hallway in the mornings or when you were leaving at the same time..
Now things have become slightly more complicated: he finds you attractive.
Beautiful.
Sexy.
It's strange to realize that he feels something like that after almost two years of losing Laura; his marriage in the latter stages had been complicated, full of ups and downs, but when she'd had the accident, despite the slight crisis, Clint had been certain that things were going to work out, one way or another.
Then, she'd passed away, and he'd promised himself that he wouldn't just focus on the kids anymore, that he'd be hers forever. And instead... And instead, ever since he saw you in that elf costume-which would have looked ridiculous and cheap on any other woman-he can't stop fantasizing.
When he looks at you, what scares Clint the most are the image filling his mind; if they were erotic, he would have been able to deal with them- he would have understood them, accepted them, even – but what he fantasizes about is life. The small things: the whole family gathered around the table for breakfast, holding you in his arms by the chimney, running in the park at the sunset, holding hands, making out at the theatre… they may look like innocent enough, but given how long he’s been alone- and how long he’s been in love with Laura- they scare him more than an army of alien invaders hell-bent on destroying humanity.
Again, he sighs, praying that you don't notice (in order to avoid far too complicated questions, which, in all honesty, he wouldn't even know how to answer to), and wonders a) how a girl like you can still be single, and b) if it's fate that has it in for him and has decided to complicate his life, because if you had someone, he's sure, everything would be easier.
You bend down to grab a puppet that has fallen to the floor, and Clint, guiltily, looks at your form with ill-concealed interest, and almost whistles in appreciation - but then reconsiders, and instead just clears his throat, beckoning your attention.
You jerk to your feet, turning to face him, blushing. And that's when you feel a peculiar scent invade the air.
Cookies. Toasted. Almost charred, actually.
You whimper, pouting, as the archer scoffs, biting into the burnished dough.
"Definitely edible." He states seriously, as if pondering the fate of the entire human race. "And by the way, relax-it's been so long since we've eaten real home-cooked meals that this, to us, is the idea of Heaven."
“Don’t, it’s not healthy.” You scoff, stealing the cookie from Clint and throwing it in the bin, with the rest of the murdered goods, lecturing the older man, pointing an accusing finger at him as if you were a teacher. “And no, it’s not of any consolation. Also because cooking it’s one of the few things I’m actually good at. Outside of work, obviously.”
“I think,” he chuckles, teasing you, his breath hot on your neck as he whispers in your ear, almost as if you were lovers, or he was telling you a secret. “It’s because of my charm. I’m very distracting.”
You slap him on the back, which with his muscles there's no way Clint felt. “You are pretty stupid for a super-hero, you know?” You snicker, and Clint just nods while he puts her finger in the eggnog cream and sucks on it like he' s five years old. “You act like a kid more than your son.”
“Please, I’m not childish- if anything, it’s my son who’s way too mature for a five years old.” He sighs, and starts to mindlessly tap on the table with the knuckles if his right hand, keeping quiet: it’s as if he was struggling to find the right words. “Seriously, though, Nathaniel’s smiling a lot more since you came around. And Lila, too- although I believe it may actually have to do with her room now being an actual room instead of a collection of cardboards and camping furniture.”
“Speaking of which…” you blush, crossing protectively your arms in front of you, feeling suddenly small and insecure. “She and Cooper wanted to know if you were available to go Christmas shopping this Sunday. Unless you fear people may actually recognize you.”
“Please. I’m not super-powered, a billionaire, the embodiment of this very country or a foxy lady- when they see me, they think I just have one of those faces.” He dramatically sighs, as he was really feeling an enormous weight on his shoulders, and you laugh, hiding your mouth behind your tiny hand.
“I can’t make any promises, though.” Suddenly somberly, Clint scratches the back of his neck. “Word saving is kind of not a nine to five thing.”
“Yeah…” You bite your lips, blushing as you tuck a lock of hair behind your hear. “Yeah, sure, I understand.”
Your eyes meet his.
Suddenly, Clint is speechless; he lick his lips, his gaze focused on your mouth, and silence befalls upon you two; you swallow, suddenly aware of his presence, and you look into each other’s eyes. You go on tiptoes in the same instant Clint seems to lean towards you, but the sound of something being broken, and Nathaniel’s cry, cuts the moment short.
Clint stares at you, as if you were dangerous – and maybe, you are.
Each day after passes rapidly, and as each day passes by, you get closer to the Barton’s kids –and yet, it seems that there’s suddenly a strange tension between you and Clint after the almost kiss that never came to be, and deep down you know what’s going on: you are attracted to each other.
Everyone sees it. Even Nat- or maybe especially Nat. One day she even suggests hanging some mistletoe around the house just to give you and Clint an excuse to kiss and get rid of this tension. You just scoff at her, but deep down you feel she may be right. But this scares you. You don’t want to be kissed by Hawkeye – or maybe you just want it too much and are damn scared to admit it out loud.
You fear you may never want to stop, that you’ll get addicted with just one touch, because you like him.
And you like his children, too.
You tell yourself that if there’s one shortcoming in Clint it’s his kids, that if you’ll be more than a sitter, they’ll start treat you like the evil step-mother, fearing you may want to try and replace their mom- in their lives, and in their father’s heart. But, deep down you know that’s not the case. You have faith in them, and in their natural goodness.
And you understand why Clint doesn’t want to get too close to you.
He… feels something for you, you see it in his eyes, you feel it from his touches, the way he lingers when he skims over your skin, but he will never act on his desires, fearing that if anything may happen between the two of you, who will get hurt will be his children- that they’ll get too attached to you and that you’ll eventually leave them.
You know it- and it saddens you, not because Clint’s not taking a chance on you, but because he is not taking a chance at life- a second shot at love. He is frozen in time, eternally just a father and a widower.
It’s sad… and yet a small part of it accepts it. Even understands his reasoning, because Clint feels like he must be a father first, an Avenger second, and…well, he comes last, as a man.
On Christmas Eve, you look at him playing with his kids from the window, and your heart clenches painfully, when realization hits you. Clint has one fault, and one fault only.
He is the one you mustn’t love.
When hot tears sting your eyes, you take a decision: you’ll leave. Your contract’s up anyway, and Stark hasn’t decided anything yet, and you’ve already received a couple of offers. A couple of them are here in the City, one is on the West Coast, but the only one you are seriously considering is in England, in a research lab on Muir Island.
“Are you crying?” You turn when you hear his voice, and gasp, surprised: you didn’t hear him arriving at your back. Your lips in a tight line, you clench your fists, trying to at least look you are strong and capable, although deep down you think you may sound like a broken little girl- helpless and alone.
“No. No.” You clear your throat, staring at your feet. “It’s just the cold.”
“Right. Because you are so not avoiding being alone with me.” he barks without appearing too upset. He crosses his arms over his chest, and his muscles are highlighted by the tight shirt of dark technical fabric, making him sinfully desirable.
Feeling guilty – and caught red handed – you simply sigh, lowering your shoulders.
“Well, so what? We almost kissed, and thanks God we stopped before it was too late! You’ve got a family, and they come first, I get it!” You snap, finally, feeling something broking in you. Clint looks at you- he really does- for the first time after days and days, and you look paler, thinner than you did when you first walked into his place. “So, make me a favor and start looking for a babysitter, a nanny or whatever you need because… because I don’t think it’s fair, staying here and… and knowing that you’ll always be so far away from me.”
He just nods- and look at you walking away.
He stares at your back as you walk through the front door: you are leaving – or anyway, you will, pretty soon. Just like pretty much everyone else in his life did before.
“You ok, dad?” He turns, and jumps- surprised by Lila’s presence. She looks satisfied with herself, indication that she knows she can get stealthy when she wants, and that she can even outsmart him, a spy master. “Sooo… did you already get her anything for Christmas?”
“Why should I?” He quizzically asks her, honestly surprised by the bluntness of her question.
“I don’t know, because you like her, a lot?” She scoffs at him, staring in disbelief at her father when he is remained speechless by her declaration. “You know that you actually like her, right?”
“Well, of course I do.” He blushes, rolling on his heels. “I mean, she is a nice girl and…”
“Woman.” She lectures him, stating the obvious with a deadly gaze. “She is a grown-up woman, dad, not a teenager. And don’t pretend you don’t know it!”
“Of course I know she is a woman,” He mumbles, hands in the pockets of his jeans as he stares at his feet. “But it’s fine. I don’t plan on doing anything that would hurt you guys.”
“Oh, dad….” She sighs, rolling her eyes, shaking her head. “You really don’t get, like, at all. You’re completely oblivious to what happens around you. Now, I’m just going to tell you once…”
Nathaniel insisted, so you didn’t have the heart to tell him no, and when he, for the gazillionth time, asks you to join the Barton’s for Christmas, you accept it, although you feel like a fish out of water- like it’s not your place.
Like you’ll only got hurt, in the end.
The family’s gathered around the Christmas three, dressed with Christmassy outfits. Even Clint wears a themed sweater, purple (his signature color) with a portrait of Rudolph the reindeer's big face on it, complete with a light bulb nose that glows red intermittently. Still clad in your pajama- a white fluffy top with a smart sentence, and plaid fabric pants – you seems younger… and you feel like you shouldn’t be there, like you are intruding.
“Is it really ok for me to be here?” You ask Clint at low voice, while the children sneaker, behaving like they were all onto some huge secret you aren’t part of. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating it together, like…like a family?”
You struggle to pronounce the last few words, and you feel a bit guilty, almost ashamed, and your cheeks redden at the thought, of playing pretend for a little longer. As sensing your insecurity, Clint squeezes your shoulder, and nuzzles your neck.
“It’s ok,” He whispers, with a smile on his lips. “We got you something- besides, you shouldn’t be alone this time of the year.”
You just nod, and with shaky hands grab the stocking Nathaniel offers you with his tiny hands.
There’s a jewelry box, light blue- Tiffany’s shade, to be more accurate, small, squared: perfect for a ring. Wanda’s words from few weeks ago come back to hunt you, and you look, swallowing, from Clint to his enthusiast and thrilled kids, and then back to the box in your hands.
You stare at the box, then at Clint’s cheeky grin, and without stopping to look at the avenger, you finally lift the top, and you can finally breath once again.
And you can’t help it, you start laughing. Loud, almost maniac, leaning with your forehead on Clint’s shoulder.
It’s not a ring. It’s a key ring, shaped like the silhouette of a cat, your favorite animal, and there’s even a key already attached… the key of Clint’s place.
“So, I thought that since you’ll not be the sitter any longer, you’ll need a spare key for when you come around.” He clears his voice, and sobers, suddenly serious. He takes your hands in his, and squeezes it, looking for your eyes. “If you were gone, I’d miss you. And the kids, too. They love you and… I think I’m falling in love with you, too. Which I think it’s pretty strange, given that I’ve never even kissed you, but….”
Between tears of pure joy, you stop Clint’s ranting- with a butterfly kiss on his lips. He kisses your forehead, the crown of your hair, and you sigh, content, enjoying the warmth of his embrace and the security of his embrace.
“So, want to tell me why you were laughing?” he asks you, his breath hot on your neck, making you shiver.
Yu squeezes his hands, your head on his shoulder. “You’re not going to believe what happened to me last month…”